Smooth
by dharmamonkey
Summary: One-shot about one of Booth's more unusual physical features. Total fluff and fun. No substantive character dev of any consequence


A/N: Total one-shot inspired by re-watching the episode "Double Trouble in the Panhandle." I don't own Bones, though I sure wish I owned a Booth clone (yum). Enjoy!

~.~.~

Temperance Brennan lay on her side next to her partner, feeling her last orgasm as it slowly faded away: the gradual return to a normal pulse and rate of respiration as all of her senses seemed to come back from the edge of ecstatic oblivion.

Seeley Booth lay next to her in much the same state. He lay with his hands behind his head, smiling at his continuing inability to believe—after all these months, after the countless number of times they had made love—how lucky he was to love and be loved by the amazing woman next to him. _Bones._ _His_ Bones. His _lover_. His breathtakingly skillful, mind-shatteringly awesome, scorchingly hot lover.

Brennan blinked and her thoughts wandered to admire the man next to her. Her eyes traced his muscular form, from his broad, smooth chest to his strong, robust shoulders. _God, I love those shoulders. _Laying as he did, with his head resting on his hands, his biceps, triceps, forearms and armpits looked particularly delicious. _Those armpits. Like a Greek god—_

"Bones..."

"Yes, Booth..."

"I suppose it goes without saying, but _that_ was amazing."

"Yes, it was."

Several more long moments of silence passed between them.

"Booth..."

"Yes, Bones..."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Booth smiled and glanced over to her through the corner of his eye. She had that inquisitive voice she used, the one that was often preceded by the use of the phrase, "I don't know what that means."

"Of course, Bones."

"Why do you shave your armpits?"

He blinked but did not look at her. "Why? You don't like it?" he asked, his voice touched with a twinge of testiness.

She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I said, Booth. I simply asked why you do it."

He rolled over to face her. "I feel less stinky that way, " he said with a smirk. "I spent a lot of time in war zones, going days or weeks without a shower—stinking so bad that my BO could peel the wallpaper off the walls of any decent, civilized establishment. So when I got back from Somalia, I started to shave there so I wouldn't stink as bad when I sweat, and I've shaved under there ever since." He watched her eyes, wondering what her anthropological mind would make of his explanation. "Makes it easier to get by on just a GI shower, too."

Brennan gave him a puzzled look. "What's a GI shower?"

Booth laughed, leaning closer to place a petal-soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "It's not a shower at all. It's when you bathe over a sink, river, well, water barrel or whatever, wiping down your face, armpits and—if possible—your crotch with a washcloth, handkerchief, napkin or whatever's available. In the worst case, you wipe down your sweatiest bits with baby wipes. That's a GI shower."

Booth smirked to think how he'd taken just such a "shower" the morning he'd bumped into his old friend Camille Saroyan in the elevator at the Hoover Building, the morning she recommended he get in touch with a certain anthropologist named Dr. Temperance Brennan. He'd been out all night playing pool when he'd got the call from Gemma Arrington's mother, and he ducked into the nasty men's room in the back, using handsoap and paper towels to approximate a shower.

"Do you like them?" he asked. "Shaved, I mean." He tried to hide his smile, attempting to solicit her honest opinion. Of course, he knew that she'd give it to him, blunt as always, whether he smiled or not.

She blushed. "I do—though you're the only man I've ever known who shaved there." She made a point to say _known_ and not _been with_, recognizing how sensitive Booth was on the subject of her prior lovers. "I like it. Together with the exceptionally fine androgenic hair you exhibit, I believe it gives you a highly evolved appearance, consistent with the Greek ideal of Apolllonian masculinity."

Booth chuckled. "So what you're saying is it helps me look like a Greek god?"

One corner of Brennan's lip curved up in a smirk. "Basically, yes."

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a cocky grin, rolling over to lay on his back again, his head propped on his hands.

Brennan stroked the meatiest part of his shoulder with her index finger. "One more thing..."

"And what's that?" he asked.

She rolled closer to him and brushed her lips against the smooth skin of his armpit.

"I can kiss you here," she said, using her lips and tongue to form a delightful sucking kiss that made him groan. "—without getting a mess of hair in my mouth."

"God, Bones..."

~.~.~

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